


The Son of Agni

by wearethewitches



Series: is Sokka really that important? yep. [2]
Category: Avatar: The Last Airbender
Genre: Attempted Kidnapping, Death Threats, Feels, Gen, Moon Spirit Sokka (Avatar), Ozai (Avatar) is an Asshole, Parental Hakoda (Avatar), Pre-Relationship, Ursa (Avatar) is a Good Parent, Zuko (Avatar)-centric
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-07
Updated: 2020-10-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 18:41:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26882341
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wearethewitches/pseuds/wearethewitches
Summary: Zuko's life is in danger. Or, so he's told by a boy with white hair, at least.aka, that one where Zuko gets out.
Relationships: Hakoda & Ursa (Avatar), Sokka & Zuko (Avatar)
Series: is Sokka really that important? yep. [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1946290
Comments: 5
Kudos: 151





	1. The Boy in the Window

If there is one thing Zuko is certain about in his life, it’s the guard patrols. Never changing, the patterns are absurdly easy to follow when you’re around them all the time—something made all the more stark in the quiet of his room, when he lies on his bed and tries and fails to get to sleep. It’s always been a bad habit of his, something he can’t really control.

Tonight, however, it’s the only reason he isn’t kidnapped.

Hyper-aware of the unexpected sound of his window opening, the almost-silent squeak of hinges fully awakening him where he lays, Zuko tenses under his covers, peeking up to where the sound comes from—not realising he’s met eyes with someone until they too have frozen in realisation.

 _A boy?_ Zuko thinks, taking in the soft white glow of his hair and the dark hue of his tunic and trousers. The lack of red and brown puts him off—the glint of a weapon over the boy’s shoulder causing him to sit upright in bed, mouth snapping open to call for the guards.

‘Wait!’ hisses the boy, panicked, hands rising defensively. ‘I’m not here to hurt you!’

‘Why should I believe you?’ Zuko replies, heart in his throat. He can feel his fire inside him, banked like coals, merely embers this late in the evening—the strength of his bending taken with the setting of Agni. He bunches his covers up and sets them aside as the boy finishes scrambling through the high window, tentatively balanced on the sill. Zuko can see every minute movement of his shadow against the moonlight.

‘Because I’m not here to hurt you—I’m here to rescue you!’ The boy proclaims, eyes wide. ‘You’re in grave danger, Prince Zuko!’

‘You’re not Fire Nation,’ Zuko accuses in fear, finally sitting up and grabbing the dagger his Uncle Iroh had gifted him from the Earth Kingdom. Lu Ten had been teaching him how to wield a plain dagger from the armoury before he went off to join the Siege of Ba Sing Se, probably the reason why Uncle sent it home to him. Zuko points the weapon in the strange boy’s direction, asking the strange, burning question on his mind—’Why is your hair so pale?’

The boy reaches up tentatively, grasping a loose braid with a bead on the end—a blue bead, if Zuko is seeing right. It’s very dark, this late at night and the fires by his door don’t illuminate very far into his bedroom.

‘I’ve met the spirits,’ says the boy quietly, coughing a little before his previous confident tone returns. ‘You have to come with me, now. They said your life would be in danger, if you didn’t.’

‘I’m not coming with you,’ Zuko replies firmly, pursing his lips, ‘and I wouldn’t leave my mother behind if I was in danger. Or Azula.’

‘We can come back for them.’

‘They’ll think you kidnapped me! The guards will be more on alert than ever!’ Zuko finds himself nearly shouting, panicked at the thought of being in danger—for if his own guards in the palace haven’t realised something is wrong, then that can only mean one thing: the threat comes from inside the palace itself. One of their trusted has betrayed them.

But he thinks of his mother and Azula, regretting his words even as he says, ‘I’m sorry, spirit-boy, but I can’t come with you.’

The boy jerks in affront, ‘Spirit-boy? That’s a stupid name.’

‘You haven’t told me what to call you.’ Zuko scowls in return.

Grumbling in discontent, the boy mutters, ‘I am the Bái Láng.’

‘The White Wolf,’ murmur the prince, absorbing the new information quickly, just like he’s been taught. He asks tentatively, ‘You’ll go, now? Is this my only chance to come with you?’

Bái Láng hesitates. ‘I’ll come tomorrow—not if guards are here, though! I’ll know! Tui will tell me!’

 _Tui—the Moon Spirit?_ Zuko contains his awed gasp, nodding mutely. The boy—the Bái Láng—seems apprehensive as he nods back, shuffling back out of the window, closing it behind him silently before disappearing down past the ledge. Zuko clutches his dagger, then goes over to the window, opening it from the inside to look for him. He watches as the Bái Láng climbs down invisible footholds, stretching out his leg precariously to catch the roof-tiles of the guardhouse below Zuko’s window, pushing off the wall to creep across what should be a blatant deterrent to assassins.

Watching him go—thinking that his pale hair is its own glowing signal fire in the dark—Zuko eventually closes his window again, wondering what the threat against his life could be. If the threat comes from inside the palace, then why would the spirits send their agent directly to him, instead of to his father or even to his grandfather, Fire Lord Azulon?

Zuko thinks long and hard on the matter, falling asleep soon enough. The next day, however, brings terrible news: his cousin, Lu Ten, has died in the war.

‘What will Uncle Iroh do?’ Zuko whispers to his mother, taking comfort in how she strokes his hair, despite the shaking of her hand.

Ursa says to him, ‘He will carry on, but his life will be burdened forever by grief…as will ours.’

‘I was already missing him,’ Zuko shares his secret, burrowing further into her dress. The Bái Láng could not be further from his mind, until that very evening, when his father brings their family to an audience with Grandfather.

Fire Lord Azulon is an old man, one whom Zuko has rarely met outside official meetings, such as this one. Zuko can’t remember ever speaking to him before—but it can’t be that hard. He watches Azula show off her prodigious bending and feels the stirrings of jealousy, rushing to prove himself…and ultimately failing, crushed beneath his nerves and the high expectations of his elders.

Mother is his only solace. ‘I failed,’ he says to himself, not realising he could be heard.

‘No, Zuko,’ she says to him, even as Fire Lord Azulon angrily chastises his father, ‘I _loved_ watching you. That’s who you are Zuko,’ her hand slips up to pull his face around, Zuko unable to stop the tears of embarrassment as she says, ‘Someone who keeps fighting, even though it’s hard.’

‘-tell me what you want! Everyone else—go.’

Zuko’s mother doesn’t waste time pulling him to his feet, dragging him forwards as Azula joins them in escaping. Zuko feels his heart pounding inside his chest, fear of being burned alive chasing away what humiliation he just felt. Not even family are exempt from Fire Lord Azulon’s wrath.

But when they finally reach the door, Azula pulls him behind a curtain and it is the beginning of the end. That evening, when Azula returns to tell him of the ‘sacrifice’ their father has been ordered to make, Zuko cannot return to sleep—thoughts raging over the supposed danger that has become reality.

The Bái Láng said he was told Zuko was in danger, the boy touched by spirits insistent that such was true. Yet, how could he know? Who could have told him that Zuko was to be sacrificed by his father, when that decision had yet to be made?

 _He spoke of Tui, the Moon Spirit,_ Zuko recalls in fright. _Did the spirits tell him of my future?_ It occurs to him that the Moon Spirit is worshipped by waterbenders and those of the Water Tribes—that the boy must have been Water Tribe himself—and that saving him would put the Fire Nation at a disadvantage. Despite the threat to his life, he would still be a hostage.

When the Bái Láng eventually returns, Zuko is still awake and missing his dagger—undoubtedly stolen by Azula. Part him aches for the reminder of his uncle and Lu Ten, but he lets it go. He takes what few keepsakes he has—copies of his favourite stories and plays, all the firebending scrolls he’d kept hidden in his rooms to practice, a small marble sun dial sculpture he’d gotten as a gift from their Earth Kingdom allies—and some clothes, packing them away carefully within a red silk banner.

The Bái Láng, upon his arrival, looks on his things with trepidation. ‘We’ll be disguising you,’ he says, sounding reluctant. ‘You shouldn’t bring things recognisable as yours.’

‘No-one cares,’ Zuko says bluntly. ‘My father means to kill me, as ordered by my grandfather. Your spirits were correct to say there was a threat to my life.’

Blue eyes widening in shock, the other boy climbs down from the window-sill, approaching slowly. ‘I’m- I’m sorry. That’s insane! What about your mother? And your sister? Do you still want to get them?’

 _‘‘You must know the pain of losing a first-born son by sacrificing your own,’’_ quotes Zuko, unable to stop the shake in his voice. The Bái Láng makes a face of horror.

‘Crazy firebenders,’ he mutters, before grabbing his bag of things. ‘Come on, just follow-’

And then the doors to Zuko’s chambers open.

Zuko looks up in horror, struck with guilt when he recognises his mother in the light, frozen at the sight of Zuko and the white-haired boy by his window. _We’re clearly leaving,_ he thinks in despair, before watching his mother close the doors with a trembling arm, locking them all inside.

‘Oh Moon-naa, what do I do?’ mumbles the Bái Láng, hesitating as his eyes flicker between Zuko, the window and Zuko’s mother.

Impulsively, Zuko steps forwards, holding out his hand. ‘Come with us.’ His voice is bold—his offer bolder. Prince Ozai’s son _and_ wife can’t disappear at the same time.

But his mother comes closer, taking his hand and bringing it to her lips. She looks to the Bái Láng and asks, ‘Could I get back the same way you came in?’

 _No,_ Zuko thinks, though he knows it really couldn’t go any other way. He wants to scream for her to come with them—to escape the Fire Nation and the wrath of their family—but then he remembers Azula, his little sister who _needs_ their mother to be her guiding light. They can’t just leave her here alone.

‘Not in that robe,’ the Bái Láng jokes weakly, answering his mother’s question even as he shrinks in place, clutching Zuko’s belongings with a white-knuckled grip.

‘Alright,’ says Ursa, letting go of Zuko to remove her outer layers. Zuko can’t help but be surprised by what hides underneath, his mother casually setting aside her adornments, outer robes, fittings and skirt to reveal a sleeveless black blouse lined with golden thread and matching loose trousers. Fascinated by the change—never having seen a grown woman wear trousers, let alone his mother—Zuko stares as his mother also disposes of her headpiece, long hair flowing around her shoulders all the way to her waist. She smiles at his attentions.

‘Come on, Zuko. It is time to leave this place,’ she says, taking his hand again and leading him to the window. The Bái Láng makes a noise of panic, before climbing out, using his teeth to hold Zuko’s things. Zuko watches him climb halfway down, then follows, hands covered in sweat as he copies the boy’s movements, only slipping up once.

His mother whispers down at him, ‘You can do it—you can do it!’

Emboldened by his mother’s support, Zuko manages to reach the roof, the Bái Láng offering his hand when Zuko stretches out to the roof and falls short, not as tall as the white-haired boy. Then, Zuko gets to look up and watch his mother slowly, but surely, makes her way down the palace walls too. Sometimes, she has to curl herself up to reach the same footholds—and sometimes, she misses them entirely on purpose, not having to go on every last one.

But eventually, she too comes onto the roof.

‘This way,’ says the Bái Láng, whispering as he leads them over the tiles, the quiet buzz of guards having their evening meal below a constant worry in Zuko’s mind. What if they catch them? What would Father do to Mother, after he killed Zuko?

The Bái Láng is smart, though. He leads them over the roof in silence, across another using an archway as a bridge, then over the tall palace wall where they have to wait till a pair of guards pass them by. Then, they trek up, into a cave with pale green stones marking the entrance. That is where the Bái Láng stops to let them rest, whistling in a distinct code. It takes a few minutes for the Bái Láng to receive a return call, by which time real tiredness has set in, Zuko more exhausted than he’s ever been before.

‘My dad has a boat on the other side of the mountain,’ says the Bái Láng, looking to Ursa. ‘If you’re not coming, then we’ll close the tunnel up. You won’t be able to find your way to the other side on your own.’

‘I understand,’ says Mother. ‘Will you lead him alone?’

‘More of my tribe are coming.’

 _I was right,_ Zuko thinks, listening to his mother ask the boy, ‘Will Zuko be safe with you? With your tribe?’

‘Yes. On my word, he’ll be safe,’ says the boy, who takes out his shining boomerang from his back, holding it against his chest as he bows in respect. Zuko watches his mother bow in turn, lower than the boy. When the Bái Láng turns again to the cave, this time he can see a pinprick of light from a torch, the fire low but burning steadily. Eventually, he can see the shadowed form of six men bearing curved bone clubs, blunt-force weapons meant to smash the skulls of their enemies.

The hairs on the back of his neck prickle as they step out into the moonlight, the foremost Water Tribesman looking first to the Bái Láng and putting a hand on his shoulder.

‘Sokka,’ he says, asking, ‘You were undiscovered?’

‘Nearly,’ says the boy—says Sokka, Bái Láng of the Southern Water Tribe. Zuko can tell the difference now, when fully-dressed warriors stand in front of him, looking so very different from the paintings of the Northern warriors with their brown paints and matching furs. Everything about these men screams _savage_ to Zuko’s high-bred leanings and it makes him clam up, to see them.

‘Who is the woman? A guard?’ questions another Tribesman, standing to the leader’s right.

‘My name is Ursa—wife to Prince Ozai and mother of Zuko and Azula. I am here to gain your word my son shall be safe from the Fire Nation.’

‘Mother-’ Zuko tries to interrupt, before his mother forces him to face her, their sun-gold eyes meeting for what could be the last time.

‘Zuko, your life is at stake and if there was any other way that didn’t involve the taking of life in exchange-’ and all at once, Zuko wonders for the first time why his mother was visiting him so late at night, when she should be sequestered away in safety ‘-I would take it. I _am_ taking it. You need to leave the Fire Nation while you still have a chance. I don’t care how that happens, so long as you _live.’_

He can’t bear it. ‘Mother, come with us,’ he pleads, ‘Come with me! I don’t want to be alone!’

‘If I go, then it will be Azula who faces the brunt of your father’s ire,’ she murmurs, kissing his forehead and embracing him. Zuko holds on as tight as he can, struggling when she pushes him away.

‘No! No, don’t go, don’t leave me-’ but then the Bái Láng is grabbing his arm and pulling him back, another Tribesman hauling him up over their shoulder. ‘Mother! Mother, please-’

And then he is carried away, into the dim, dark of the cave and the last he sees of his mother is a silhouette in the moonlight.


	2. The Love of a Mother

Hakoda has seen many horrific things throughout his life. He has seen Earth Kingdom villages burned to the ground and young children starving in their mother’s arms. He has seen raiders decimate his people and the dead eyes of refugees heading east.

The plan had been for Sokka to kidnap the youngest Fire Nation prince while Azulon’s forces were still marching back from Ba Sing Se, using a narrow window before Prince Iroh returned to sneak in and convince the Prince Zuko that he was in danger—that Sokka’s spirits guided him to Zuko in an attempt to save his life. That first night when Zuko asked for time, Hakoda had thought the ruse to be up and that when Sokka returned, he would be taken captive.

Sokka had been sure that he’d come, though, putting his faith in a terrified boy barely any older than himself. Hakoda had been prepared to hear his son was taken captive or worse…he had _not_ prepared for Fire Princess Ursa.

The cries of her son still ringing in his ears, Hakoda wordlessly sends Sokka to follow the men and their hostage back to the ship, leaving him alone with the princess and Bato.

‘Why are you giving him to us?’ he asks her.

‘I spoke truly,’ she replies, quiet. ‘His life is in danger. Today, Ozai played his hand and it backfired—on Zuko. Iroh’s son and heir, Lu Ten, died in the Siege of Ba Sing Se. The line of succession is in peril and Ozai asked Fire Lord Azulon to set aside his brother in his favour.’

 _Spirits,_ thinks Hakoda. He questions, ‘And how did he reply?’

Ursa meets his eyes and in them, he sees fire and anger beyond a simple wife’s. It is the rage of a mother whose children have been threatened.

‘He told Ozai to sacrifice his own firstborn in penance. No doubt,’ she says with vitriol, ‘he meant to give Zuko to the Fire Sages and become a priest, who may only ever ascend in the event of catastrophe, but Ozai’s mind is corrupted. He has always hated Zuko and even called into question my own faithfulness, when Zuko did not begin to firebend until the age of five. His sister, Azula, is a prodigy—making the difference more stark.’

‘He would kill the boy.’ His voice rumbles as he clenches his club tight in judgement. Hakoda steps forth, putting it away as Ursa steps back. Instead, he takes out a knife and slices into the meat of his hand, carving a thin line beside the mark of his marriage to Kya.

Bato at his side lets out a gust of air, then says the traditional words. ‘Hakoda of the Water Tribe of Grey Wolf offers you his services. To accept is to acknowledge the truth of his vow.’

Ursa narrows her eyes in suspicion. ‘What vow?’ she asks.

‘The child of your blood known to me as Zuko will find a home with me. My tribe shall be his tribe,’ Hakoda says, knowing his impulsivity will be the death of him one day—but that this is _good_ and _right_. He will not let this boy be murdered for the ambitions of a single man and he will protect him from those who would take him from Hakoda’s custody. ‘Zuko shall know of my ways and be welcomed into my family as my son. Warmth, food and shelter will be his. Love, kindness and acceptance will be his. In the eyes of the Four Nations, he shall be my son and no others.’

Hakoda watches as her breath hitches, shoulders rising as she looks at him with teary eyes. He finishes the vow, saying to her, ‘Ask of me these things and they will be done.’

Immediately, she asks him, ‘How do I accept?’ She is silent as he takes her hand in his own.

‘I would do the same to you as I did myself,’ Hakoda tells her of his ways, ‘but this vow is done in secret and an injury will be noted. My blood stains your hand—and this will be a reminder of my honour.’ He puts away his knife and untangles a black bead from his hair. It’s not decorated, but Hakoda carved it from a dark bramble wood only found in the tundra and smoothed its rough edges till it shone. He made in memory of his wife, Kya, mere months ago.

He thinks she would be glad for it to be used like it is being used today.

When Hakoda presses the bead into Ursa’s hand, Bato asks her, ‘Do you accept Hakoda’s vow?’

‘I do,’ says Ursa, before she lurches forwards, wrapping her arms around his neck and holding onto him tight. Hakoda startles, then accepts the hug, embracing her tentatively in return. _She has given me all rights to her son…a son whom she will likely never see again._

Leaning back to press their foreheads together briefly, in a much too fond gesture for strangers, Hakoda steps back and gives her a shallow bow. She curtsies with invisible skirts, then pauses before speaking one last time.

‘I was meant to disappear tonight, after murdering Azulon in Ozai’s stead,’ she reveals to them both, ‘But now, things will be different. I shall hold Ozai publicly responsible for Zuko’s disappearance in front of Azulon and my husband shall forever be wary of me for it. Zuko can _never_ return or it will be both our heads.’

‘I will see it done,’ Hakoda promises her, watching her nod simply, then leave. Such a simple exit—impossibly quiet and lacking in tears. Suspicion framing his mind, Hakoda gestures to Bato for them both to go, hurrying down the tunnel with their last torch, catching up with their group in time.

To Sokka and Zuko, he says clearly, fist bleeding freely, ‘You are brothers, now. We will talk more on the ship.’

‘Brothers?’ they say together in equally surprised voices and it makes Hakoda smile grimly, thinking of the lady, Ursa, for whom he has sworn an oath for life.

Zuko is indeed his son.

Now, until the end of time.


End file.
